The Unpaved Road to Existentialism
by Zaedah
Summary: I don’t do existential, Crews but I had a damned epiphany.


_I've been re-watching the scant two seasons NBC allowed us to have and then returned to a few unfinished stories in my archive._

_Part of a trio I never got around to posting. AU in all the right places..._

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**The Unpaved Road to Existentialism**

Because she'd called in a mumbled stupor of a psychotic collapse, he breaks in with little finesse.

From her vantage point at the table, Charlie's urgency is visible in the compact set of his shoulders as he scans the room in instinctual cop fashion, all but drawing his gun at the groan of a bus outside. Satisfied, he approaches the chair she's grown roots into, pushed away from the table and an untouched dinner. Dani's legs are raised to her chin, a support for the mangle of weariness and adrenalin adding lead to her brain. Moisture has long since dried on her skin but she still tastes the bitter flavor of realizations months, years and lifetimes too late. She's been wrong and this unlikely man is the fix. Returning her feet to the chilled floor, an invitation and he kneels between her knees, watching as one would a skittish creature. The dim light of a lone lamp shadows the startling orange of his hair but the halo around him is its own illumination.

"I'm stuck," is her opening and he's tilting his head, eyes dropping to check for bonds and glue.

"I don't understand." Confusion mixed with concern is a potent expression.

"I'm at a crossroad," she tells him, calm as resting fruit and he doesn't know what to do with that. "I need guidance. Which road is right?"

"Have you been drinking?"

Of course she has, Reese wants to yell. Why else would the pessimist stumble onto the path of the almost nearly aware?

"You got guidance or what?" She challenges, conscious of the vapors on her breath.

"Do you want the Zen answer?" He's teasing now but willing in that saintly way of his. It means something in the deep places.

Unbound hair quivers as she shakes her head. "The Charlie answer."

"None of them." That he doesn't need time to consider is impressive but it lacks optimism, which surprises her. "You make a decision and then make that decision the right one."

His hand finds hers, an easy gesture she'd label presumptuous any other day. But not tonight, when the burn of his eyes ignites the residue beneath her flesh.

"And that's it?"

"You own it and the road becomes yours. It has no choice."

When he speaks this way, certain as though circumstance cannot overcome will, the world takes on the simplicity of a childhood undisturbed. That world had but one road; clear, wide and safe. And like any child, her questions have no sensible barrier to block them.

"I don't do existential, Crews but I had a damned epiphany. Right here at this table."

She's earning the interested gaze he grants witnesses who fascinate him with their complexities. That look is why they all talk to him.

"It all started," Reese explains, "with a craving. What do you crave?"

This time, she watches hesitation filter through his otherwise passive expression and the cause is not unknown. The man left prison only physically, the act of confession a dangerous trap to one so accustomed to hiding. But she asks and he answers because they're in the same moment.

"Bodhi." The whispered word is a prayer in itself and when her brow raises, Crews explains, "Enlightenment. Peace."

"Any peace on your road?"

"No." His gaze drops and regret is ash on her tongue for the cost he continues to pay. "Zen helps me accept. To an extent. But I don't have peace. Not yet." Strong, slender fingers tighten around hers as he returns to the present. "What were you craving?"

She's not the talker of the pair, words falling like burning debris from lips that prefer a different method. Leaning forward in her chair, her mouth connects to his with precision that the academy would applaud. It is, by way of the physical, her most accurate response. He tastes alive, as authentic and solid as the hand that rises to grace her chin, angling her face. He wants more and she opens like a blossom to rain, letting him invade and nourish while she learns the texture of his scars, his hope.

Where there lived only a loss of self, there now dawns waking power. She can steal and swallow his breath, ingest something of his and let it infuse her with what makes him glow. And he won't ask for it back. She's cresting with a sensation that begins at the core and stretches out through fiery nerve endings. This is what mythical oneness is, a tangible sense of the complete.

As if this alien delight requires punishment, Charlie invokes a halt to destroy the link.

"Dani?" He's asking a thousand versions of why in the space of her name but she's a bit distracted by the breathless tone.

"Make a decision," she tells him. "Then make it the right one."

In the clouding of pale blue eyes, a decision is made and his jaw tightens with a resolve that rejects her without words. This is the same man who'd kissed her into orgasm only moments ago.

"We can't own this road."

She's new to this Zen thing, but she's pretty sure that's a contradiction. Summoning the petulance of a scolded child Dani grips his forearm, binding him to her new reality.

"You said it has no choice."

"I'm not your crossroad. There's no decision to make here."

Crews was meant to fix her tonight but the breaks in his armor have never been clearer. A life sentence, though commuted, cannot be mended with wisdom and fruit. Dani meets his gentle letdown with overdue girl power.

"Because we're partners?" She's standing now and he's retreating. "Or because no amount of bullshit Zen will convince you that you're free."

He's trying to preserve calm but she's cornered him and the blade of anger sharpens his features. Descending into the stance of a predator, he's flashing a warning that any prisoner would know and respect.

"I'll be free when they aren't."

"And life stops until that happens? Or maybe you think I'm part of the conspiracy."

That the comment startles him shows how untrue it is and she is vindicated in the apology adding shame to the myriad emotions playing tug of war with his eyes.

"I never said that."

"I know," Dani assures him, inching closer. "I've spent the night fighting against a craving. I just wanted you to know it. I cursed, I cried… and now I'm eight layers of done."

"When you called, I think I knew that," he admits, allowing her hand to seek the shelter of his. "But this road isn't safe."

Because others have fallen to his excavation for truth. Because he will not stop, cannot be stopped, though he may fall too. Time has never seemed so fleeting but now that she understands the concept of a moment, the passing of the minute hand means nothing.

"We own the road." A kiss is lighted on his stubbled jaw as her fingers seek the blaze of his hair. "We'll give it no choice."

Charlie's sigh is born of disbelief shaking beneath the weight of promise. "Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace."

One word is now her responsibility, but she's not on Buddha's speed dial and therefore grabs four letters that matter at present.

"Stay."

It's his turn to steer and Charlie leans near, his voice as graveled as the road to which she's pointing.

"It is better to travel well," he says, "than to arrive."

This is how to breathe. "Then let's travel well."

The crossroad passes behind them, distant and forgotten in the formation of a better code over which no conspiracy holds sway. They will not stop, will not be stopped and time is no longer fleeting because it's bent to their consolidated will.

He will be her fix.

And she will be his peace.


End file.
